


Somewhere I Have Never Travelled

by boccardo_syllogism



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boccardo_syllogism/pseuds/boccardo_syllogism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nurse is still talking. "-very lucky, Mr. Richardson -"</p>
<p>"This isn't my wedding ring," Douglas interrupts, staring down at his hand.</p>
<p>There is a sudden and very loud silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere I Have Never Travelled

God, it's bright in here.

Douglas moves to rub his eyes. A sharp flare of pain from his right side quickly puts paid to that idea. _Fuck, that hurts._

"Douglas?" That's Martin's voice, surely. Ah, yes, there's that mop of ginger curls. Where is everyone else?

"Sir, don't try to move too much, you don't want to hurt yourself further..."

But his left arm seems to work fairly well, and though the drugs they've got him on are clearly decent quality - _that means it's bad_ , his brief medical training whispers sluggishly through the haze, _good drugs are expensive_ \- his mind has caught on a streak of silver.

The nurse is still talking. "-very lucky, Mr. Richardson -"

"This isn't my wedding ring," Douglas interrupts, staring down at his hand.

There is a sudden and very loud silence.

Douglas can feel himself getting sleepier again, but he pushes himself on, because this is important, this is his _wedding ring_. "This one is silver, and mine is gold. And it ought to have a ... a thing round the edges, a stripe, and it's very smooth. Not all rough and plain like this one."

With an effort, he looks up. Martin looks positively ill, he's so pale, but hospital lights tend to do that. Douglas imagines he doesn't look much better. Everything is so _sore_.

"You must have gotten my ring mixed up with - with someone else's." God, he’s so tired. Almost without him realizing, the nurse has gently chivvied him back into a resting position and increased his dosage - morphine is bloody fantastic stuff, honestly, he's never really been in a position to really appreciate it before but it’s… it’s lovely...

The last thing Douglas registers is the quiet snick of the door closing behind his diminutive co-pilot.

 

***

The next time he wakes up, the light has changed, his right shoulder is on fire, and Carolyn is the only one in the room. A not altogether reassuring series of events, to be sure.

He isn’t even allowed to get his bearings before she’s folding her page corner and making comments. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens. At last.”

Much to Douglas’ embarrassment, his intended witty reply turns into the sort of mangled croak worthy of the most imposing of bullfrogs. Thankfully [or is it annoyingly?], Carolyn knows exactly what the problem is. A half-empty glass is sitting near the sink of his room; she fetches it and lifts it to his lips. Despite his perfectly functional left arm. Inwardly he sighs - this is going to be a _long_ convalescence.

“There you are. Has the beta dog regained his bark?”

_Beta dog?_ Ignoring this non sequitur, Douglas sniffs. “As I was saying, Carolyn, at least you recognize my virile good looks.”

“I see that dent in your head hasn’t affected that smart mouth at all,” she huffs, turning away. Douglas can see her expression of relief nonetheless. “Here we were, crowded around your unconscious body, and the first thing out of your mouth today is a compliment to your own ego. _Quelle surprise_.”

He would never, ever admit it, but Carolyn’s sniping is actually rather comforting in this too-white room that reeks of sanitizer. Something normal.

“Do you need anything else, you ungrateful lout?”

“More drugs would be lovely, thanks.” That last bit came out through teeth more gritted than he would prefer, because really, his shoulder might as well be a banshee given how much it’s screaming in his head. It’s not like the rest of his body is in peak physical condition either, but it’s increasingly difficult to concentrate on trading barbs with Carolyn with that amount of pain.

“More? Don’t tell me you’ve been smuggling again, Douglas.” Her voice is taunting and normally he’d lambast her for the inanity of that comment, but he is _really_ not in the mood.

“Seriously, Carolyn.”

“Very well. I suppose I ought to tell someone medically-inclined that you’re conscious again as well.”

She continues, talking about some sort of argument they’d apparently had with the nurses, but Douglas cuts her off with a confused “Again?”

Her eyes fix his for a split second. Then the pause is over and she explains that he’d woken up the night before and nearly given Martin a heart attack before falling back asleep less than two minutes later. Douglas remembers precisely none of this.

Why does she look so relieved?

“The others are no doubt impatient to see you as well. We’ve been taking it in shifts to stay in here - they’re probably waiting at home.”  


“Yes, how are they? What have I missed in the - however long I’ve been here?”

“Five days.”

“In the five days I’ve been here, then. How was Tunisia?” He’s a bit disappointed, actually - he was looking forward to that trip.

When he looks up, however, Carolyn is staring at him with open bafflement. “T-Tunisia?”

Douglas frowns. “Yes, Tunisia. We were meant to fly there… oh, about four days ago, I think. To Douz, if I remember correctly, to pick up some stranded Scottish cricketers.” It’s not like Carolyn to forget trips. Worrying.

What’s even more worrying is the speed and gracelessness with which she drops into the nearest chair.

“Carolyn?”

“It went fine. Absolutely fine.” But she doesn’t seem to see him at all - her gaze is trained on a perfectly unremarkable patch of blank hospital wall, and before he can investigate further, an orderly strides in and begins fussing over him.

It’s not long before he’s fighting to keep his eyes open again. Unfortunate side effect of lessening the pain, and yet he almost thinks he’d forgo it if only he could stay awake to ask what on earth is going on. As he drifts off, he sees Carolyn and the nurse engaged in a tense conversation, looking his way uneasily every once in a while.

Something’s wrong.

 

***

 

The door slams.

“For God’s sake, Arthur, he’s asleep!”

“Not anymore,” Douglas yawns.

Arthur is a riot of colour, brandishing a truly enormous bouquet of daisies in one hand and an equally oversized card in the other. As he goes to set them down, he knocks over Douglas’ [thankfully empty] water glass; bouquet, card, and glass are desperately juggled for a few surreal seconds before all three end up on the floor. As does a certain steward.

It is so very _Arthur_ that Douglas can’t help but laugh.

“Morning, Douglas! Sorry about that, didn’t mean to. Gosh, it’s brilliant to see you awake! It was _really_ -”

But Douglas doesn’t find out what it was _really_ , because Carolyn interrupts to tell them that she’ll be back in a few minutes after talking to the others and instructs Arthur to tell Douglas all about the movie he saw the other day, “because the rest of us are frankly sick of hearing about it.”

Arthur’s eyes light up, and as he bustles about removing his coat, Douglas gives Carolyn a hard stare. She knows he’s realized something is off - she won’t meet his eyes. But Arthur is dragging a chair up to the side of his bed, obviously relishing the chance to tell his story to a new audience, and Douglas lets it go.

For now.

“Right, so I saw this brilliant movie called _The Sweetest Debt_ the other day - it’s a romance movie, but it’s pretty sad, although the ending was happy - there was a dog, Douglas! - and it’s about this woman named Rose…”

 

***

Douglas is confused. Not because of Arthur - where is Helena? She’s his _wife_ \- their marriage is admittedly going through a tough patch at the moment, but he’s been awake more or less all day and she hasn’t come in at all. Unless [his blood runs cold] was she in the car too? Did the crash kill her? No… no, someone would have told him, right?

Right?

Where the hell is his wedding ring?

 

***

 

They enter the room single file, with grim expressions: Carolyn, Martin… _Herc?!_

“Douglas, do you know the date?” Carolyn’s voice is uncomfortably dull.

He does the mental math. If he’s been here five days - nearly six now - then… “The second of July, surely.”

Martin has the same dead tone when he asks, “What year?”

“2008, of course. What’s going on?”

Arthur’s face crumples. Carolyn presses her lips into a thin line. Martin closes his eyes and balls his hands into fists. And Herc -

Herc hands him the day’s newspaper.

_Wednesday, January 6, 2016_

**Author's Note:**

> Can't add chapter notes until the second chapter is posted, so for now they'll just be here.  
> -The second of July 2008 is actually the day Cabin Pressure first aired!  
> -I do actually have pictures of the two rings mentioned, but I don't know how to link things yet so ask me on tumblr if you'd like to see.
> 
> Title taken from the ee cummings poem of the same name.
> 
> Feel free to yell at me in my tumblr inbox [preux-chevalier]!


End file.
